His Name was Castiel
by FallonSong
Summary: But in the end he was so much more.
1. Prologue

**A/N: I know. The Wind Keeper was supposed to be my last Destiel story. But through a series of events I began work on this story. I'm actually pretty far into it. Hope you enjoy. It will divided into two parts, fifteen chapters each. Leave me feedback and I will marry you :)**

**Also, this is an AU in which Castiel surrenders his grace for Sam to be free from the cage at the very end of Season five. Things will be explained as you go; just hang in there.  
**

* * *

**November 23, 2014**

A room of all white could be daunting thing, and Dean really had to fight the urge to dirty the place up, but more than that, he sat wondering where the hell Cas had gotten all the white furniture, and he let out a near-hysterical laugh.

"I don't see what could possibly be so funny," hissed a man in all black, standing in the corner. Dean had nearly forgotten about him in the deep silence, but he was indeed still there, a splotch on the snowy room.

"Can it, Jamie. I didn't come here to listen to your shit."

The golden clock sitting on the table, the only real splash of color in the room, ticked twice before the man answered.

"It's James," he said through his teeth, and as he leaned forward, Dean knew just how much he must have wanted to spring forward and tear his throat out. If only he wasn't forbidden. Taking in the events of the last few months, Dean couldn't say that he wouldn't welcome death with a smile at this point.

"Okay, Jamie," he said, all the spite draining from him at the thought of leaving Sammy, of giving up. It just hadn't been the easiest year, but he really should have expected that considering in an alternate universe he died in this year, and had already lost Sam. And Cas.

It was strange how things in this world weren't actually all that far off from reality.

A door behind him opened and James stiffened, dipping his head in a greeting.

"Sir," he said, his lips barely moving.

"Dismissed," said a voice near the doorway. A voice that sent chills skittering the length of Dean's spine in a haunting way.

The man in the corner obliged eagerly, all but running from the room as Castiel rounded the couch and sat across from Dean in a plush armchair. It was white, of course. Dean used to think Cas looked best when paired with the color white, but now, it felt too clean, blank and devoid of anything.

This was not the Castiel he had known.

Castiel crossed his legs and placed his chin in his hand, mildly curious, bored, and reminiscent of a jungle cat that had its prey in such short sight that it could spare a brief respite before pouncing.

"What is it you want? Haven't I given you everything you asked for? Oh, don't try to blame me," he said as Dean opened his mouth to say 'no', "You know I kept my end of the deal. I don't want to be a part of your family anymore. I thought you might have guessed that by this point."

He let out a cold laugh and removed his black gloves delicately, laying them atop on another on the table between them.

"That color doesn't suit you," Dean said casually, trying to alleviate some of the tension. It was such a heavy presence, so daunting and uncomfortable, that Dean shifted in his chair and let out a large sigh. He hadn't realized until that moment he had actually been holding his breath.

The man, whom he tried to avoid thinking of as Castiel, lifted his chin, faintly interested in the sudden small talk, but he took it in stride.

"And you think that ugly tan trench coat looks better? Come on, Dean. We all know how much you hated it. I got rid of it, just as you asked."

A brief silence and Castiel knew he had touched a nerve; his lips curved upward wickedly.

"Did you call, sir?"

A new man poked his head into the room, wary but still appearing dignified.

"Yes, Taylor. Bring in that wine."

What he was playing at, Dean honestly had no idea, but the fact that the scenario might have been a welcomed one, before, threatened to steal every last ounce of his breath. Again. Squeezing his eyes shut, he repeatedly told himself to remain focused, that it would all be over soon.

Taylor brought the wine and Castiel poured them both a generous amount, raising his glass cheekily before downing it all. Dean didn't touch his.

"Now, now, Dean. Don't tell me you've kicked the habit in my absence? I thought the opposite might have occurred, if anything."

"You know where I've been," he replied, ignoring the jibe.

"Yes and I must say, you've annoyed me greatly. You just can't seem to let some things go, can't seem to understand that what happened before is over. You saved me this," he motioned to himself, to the length of his lithe figure, and smiled wider. "And I do appreciate it. But you know nothing will ever be the same."

"I like your jacket," Dean said softly.

Castiel's eyes narrowed minutely before he shook his head.

"What is it that you want from me, aside from the obvious?"

Ignoring the question, Dean let his eyes rove over the folds of the black leather jacket, to the dark shirt underneath. Even his jeans and shoes were black.

"Black just isn't your color," he said, sighing.

The two men sat, staring at each other, each waiting for something to change, but when it came it was almost inaudible, just a scant, fleeting cry of panic. Castiel sat up, his ring laden fingers clutching at the arm chair.

"Care to tell me what that was?" he growled. "As I am sure, being the great Winchester, you know."

"Just a few friends of mind came to crash the party," Dean said, looking away.

Another scream, louder, desperate, was followed by gun shots, the sound of a young girl giving a war cry, and Sam laughing in appreciation. All so close.

"I'll ask one more time. What have you come for?" Castiel said, his voice deadly but clam. His muscles were tensed, ready to spring to fight, but Dean remained relaxed.

"You."

"I have told you a thousand times over. I do not want to be anywhere near you ever again."

"You've got it wrong."

And at last Dean stood; Castiel sunk back, face contorted with anger.

"And how so?" he spat.

Dean reached into his coat pocket, drawing out a knife, but even then, with Castiel cornered in his throne, with an army in the mansion, overtaking their enemies, with the color black consuming the man that had slowly came to love, Dean felt physically ill at the thought of what he had to do. There was no way out but this.

For a moment, he thought he saw a flash of something in the blue eyes, just a flickering shadow of another emotion that Castiel would no longer feel. No matter what, everyone knew it had to end this way.

"I came to kill you," Dean said simply.


	2. Part 1, Chapter 1

**Part 1  
**

**Underneath the Water  
**

_"The word 'happiness' would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness."_

_ - Carl Gustav Jung_

* * *

**.Before.**

"I owe you."

What an understatement. Dean owed Castiel a lot from the get go, if he wanted to be honest. But this went above and beyond everything. But Sam, Sam who jumped into the pit with Lucifer in tow, was now inside their cozy motel room dozing. Fresh from hell, only gone a day.

"Wanna tell me what it cost?" he added after a moment of silence; Castiel didn't much seem to be into the conversation. In fact, he seemed entirely distant and haggard, his face set deep in lines of stress.

"No. Not particularly."

A pause.

"My grace."

Dean nearly staggered under the weight of the confession.

"Your _grace_? You're a…a…?"

"A fallen angel, I suppose."

His face twisted as if he tasted something foul.

"I had…help, but the cost for the power to retrieve him was rather high for my liking."

"Thanks, Cas."

He cleared his throat, feeling almost awkward now.

"You didn't really have to, though. I mean, damn, I'm glad you did. I thought that I wouldn't see him ever again."

He mentally chastised himself and steered away from the emotional junk.

"But yeah…thanks, Cas. What are you going to do about Raphael?"

A silence stretched between them as Castiel looked away, nervous.

"He's powerful. Greatly so. But I recently discovered an old friend of mine I previously thought dead. He has no interest in Heaven, really, but he agreed to fight to take him down. I can't promise much; we may very well end up fighting the apocalypse again."

"Well thanks for brightening the mood," Dean said dryly.

"You're welcome."

Another silence, in which Castiel looked down at himself, intrigued.

"I suppose I'll be in this body now. I don't know exactly how I will be affected by everything, but I decided to try to fix things while I'm down here."

He turned away, face still somber.

"It is the absolute least I could do."

* * *

**January 1, 2014**

**2:00a.m.**

After everything that he learned made the world tick, after a life of fantasy, Dean learned to walk towards reality on his tiptoes, as if it were a cat in a dark alley, waiting to take off, to run away from him. Reality wasn't as predictable, could be deterred from its natural state from the gentlest of pushes. Good things were not always a part of reality, but sometimes, they were. Sam, for instance, was a shot of pure luck in his drag of a life, something that he didn't deserve. He had driven and hunted a long while alone, and when his little brother joined him, he remembered how much he missed his solid piece of reality.

Maybe things weren't so bad.

Hunting was like clockwork, and Sam was a bridge to the inner workings of the real world. Dean couldn't entirely understand both as he did.

And then a fantasy presented itself as a reality.

His name was Castiel.

Sam snapped him out of his haze, for which Dean was grateful. Drunken thoughts strayed farther than they should most of the time.

"Ready for the finale?" Sam called, flicking the lighter and holding it close to the fuse of the firework.

Dean, sitting in a tattered lawn chair a bit back, raised his beer and nodded.

"Show me what you got!"

Sam touched the flame and ran, turning back to watch as the monstrous firework soared up, crackling and then exploding in the sky, brilliant purples and greens, stark against the smoky night.

"Not bad, Sammy!" Dean exclaimed, tilting his head up. "But I still want to buy the big pack next year!"

Sam laughed, jogging back and flinging himself into the chair next to Dean, eyes still glowing brightly. He snatched a beer from the cooler between them, settling himself in and raising his can in a toast.

"To the year 2014," he said, smiling in almost a sad way.

Dean watched him for a moment as if he had lost his mind, but he raised his own can after only the briefest of hesitations.

"To 2014."

Their cans clinked, and they grew quiet, looking around at their surroundings. Sam had wanted to celebrate the New Year, not Dean, but he had agreed to let Sam get the fireworks for the first year, and Dean would buy the beer and find them a spot to shoot them, which turned out to be a deserted cornfield in Mississippi.

"So, when do you want to start that werewolf hunt? I think they've moved up to the northern parts of-"

Dean interrupted with a large burp, and then crushed his empty can against his head. Tossing it over his shoulder, he picked up another, only stopping to say, "Sam. No work discussion just yet - please," before taking a swig.

His phone buzzed, momentarily distracting him and interesting Sam.

"Is that a text tone?"

"Yeah? So what?" Dean replied, pulling his phone out of his pocket and pressing the button to open the message.

"Who are you texting?" Sam asked, lips twitching; he already had a good idea, but it did seem a bit out there.

"Cas. Taught him how on the last visit while you were out with Vanessa. How did that go anyway?"

Sam smiled tautly at the subject change, but he didn't complain and only willingly vented about the horrors of the date with Vanessa.

"She looked a lot better with her clothes on. And after we were done, she drags out this photo album of all her cats that she's raised over the past five years, crying and telling me all their names and how she intended to let the ones that outlived her inherit everything she owned."

Dean threw his head back, laughing wildly and doubling over in his seat, slopping beer onto the chair.

"It's not funny!" Sam protested. "She's called me twelve times since then. What do I even say to this crap?"

"Gee, I don't know Sam," Dean cackled. "It doesn't sound like she entirely bats for your team."

Sam narrowed his eyes in confusion for a moment before it clicked in his brain.

"You're disgusting. Where is Cas, anyway?"

Dean wiped away non-existent tears of laughter from his eyes, pulling his phone back into view.

"New York. Giving lessons at an institute for troubled teens." His expression darkened. "I hope they aren't being jerks to him. I don't think he has a solid grip on everything just yet, and he always was the nerdiest angel in garrison. I won't be surprised if they beat him up."

Sam could tell the prospect bugged his brother more than he let on, but he simply shook his head and they let a silence fall back between them, with Dean occasionally barking out words like 'cat-lover' and 'Vanessa', followed by a laugh.

"Aren't you going to go meet up with him? Oh, don't look at me like that!" Sam hissed, rolling his eyes. "I have to go back to college eventually. And you could use some company on that werewolf hunt you're trying to ignore."

"What werewolf hunt?" Dean muttered churlishly.

"Exactly," Sam laughed, closing his eyes, reveling in the crisp winter night. Dean might miss his brother more than he dared admit, but he would be hunting with Castiel (hopefully), so he should be okay.

After a moment, he answered a new text, which said,

_Shall we meet up here?_

He responded with a _definitely_, and, though he rarely and genuinely liked his life, it didn't seem so bad right then.

"To 2014," Sam said again, sounding content.

"Let's hope it's a better 2014 than the last one."

* * *

**January 10, 2014**

Castiel refused to ditch the trench coat, despite all of Dean's protests, and what he considered reasonable arguments.

"It's dirty, bloodstained, and it's what Jimmy wore."

"But it's a part of who I am," Castiel would say vaguely, waving him off.

That in mind, the coat was the first thing he saw as Castiel emerged from a beaten down building in the slums of New York. It was a relief, a flash of familiarity in the rather alarming landscape. Dean had the sneaking feeling that someone, maybe the cat sitting on the dumpster to his right, wanted to mug him. But that might have just been the normal atmosphere of city life.

"Dean," Castiel greeted, hardly surprised to see him, propped against the Impala, hands shoved in his pockets.

Dean crossed his arms.

"I could have met you somewhere."

He shrugged before adding, almost bashfully, "I know how to take a bus now, Dean. There happened to be general confusion at first, and I was thrown off of several of them, but I think I have the basic understanding of the proceedings now."

Dean stared, thinking about how little they had actually talked lately, because wow, taking the bus was a big step for Cas.

"Just get in the car."

Castiel nodded and slid in daintily, a sight that had Dean suppressing laughter, but he hurried to his own side, deciding to tease him later. He really did want out of this neighborhood.

"Are you hungry?" he asked after it became clear that Castiel's conversation skills hadn't entirely improved.

"Yes," he replied, almost amused. "I've had to deal with that a lot lately. It doesn't ever stop, does it?"

Snickering, Dean turned onto a road where the houses weren't littered with garbage and bullet shells, looking for any sign of a restaurant.

"Yeah, that's the thing about being a human. We need fuel. Do you want anything in particular? Cheeseburgers?"

"That's your favorite food, Dean," Castiel said matter-of-factually. "But they are, as you say, 'growing on me'."

Dean stopped at a stop sign for the first time in a long while, staring. He usually just flew through them.

"That almost sounded like normal human lingo. For that, I'll buy you some pie."

Turning away, he continued driving, aware of Castiel's eyes on him, curious.

"I was concerned that I hadn't been using the phrase right. What does that mean, exactly? All the items that the phrase are paired with do not usually grow on the average human's skin."

He stopped, pondering.

"Though I have seen some rather alarming growths. What is so funny, Dean?"

Dean had stopped again, laughing, which he seemed to be doing a lot more of lately, and shook his head.

"You, Cas. How about McDonald's?" he added, catching sight of the golden arches in the distance.

"Oh no," Castiel replied. "One teenage girl I talked to informed me that she could no longer fit into her Hollister jeans because of that place. She insisted it was the devil's work, and I will not enter such a dwelling."

And here was the novelty of Castiel, who had lived as a fallen angel, almost a human, for about three years and he still just didn't seem to get it. But he wouldn't tease him yet.

"Yeah," he replied brightly. "I prefer Burger King, too. Help me look for the sign, okay?"

"Very well," Castiel conceded, folding his hands in his lap, content with the moment.

It took them several more miles of road spent in compatible quiet before Dean spotted a sign, swerving across the highway and into the parking lot with a childish 'wheeeeeeeeeeee'.

"Dean!" Cas huffed, thrown against the window. "I would advise against your maniac driving in the current traffic."

"You want to eat, don't you?" he replied amiably. "If I would have missed that turn we never would have made it over here. Aren't you getting out?"

He sprang from the car, stomach growling, and waited for Castiel to untangle himself from his seatbelt.

"Will I ever become accustomed to this?" he growled, slamming the car door.

"It's a human thing," Dean said. "Maybe. Maybe not. Some people just never learn how to be people. Like Sam. He's just a walking mushy Sasquatch that spews love quotes worthy of a care bear. But people don't judge him. Except for me, but I had the right to since I gave him his first noogie."

"His first what?" Castiel asked, entirely bewildered.

"Never mind. Let's get going. The line looks long."

* * *

In the recent months, Castiel had taken to touring the world and helping people in any way that he could, but the Winchester brothers had worried about him at first.

"Should we really set him loose on the world?" Sam had asked.

"We don't really have a say in it, do we? He's a big boy. He can handle himself."

Castiel had acquired a love for connecting with people, and with telling them about himself and trying to help. Even while stuffing his face, he eagerly recounted a story of a young man who insisted he changed his life.

"He told me he knew that he had to keep his faith and stay strong, or the world would tear him apart. Then he shook my hand and told me to keep doing my work."

"That's great," Dean replied, shoving a handful of fries in his mouth; honestly, he was listening more to Castiel's excitement than his actual words.

"It was marvelous. Has Sam made preparations to return to Stanford?"

"Yep. He's got an apartment there but told me to pick him up for a hunt just about any time. I'm going to miss the little snot, I guess."

Castiel smiled softly.

"Yes, but perhaps we could-"

He cut, off, his face twisted, clutching at his stomach.

"I think I'm full," he announced, voice gruffer than usual.

"You only took a few bites," Dean said, eyeing the half-eaten hamburger and the untouched onion rings on his tray. "Is this a usual thing, Cas?"

Castiel groaned a little, placing a hand over his mouth. Closing his eyes, he took a few deep breaths and took his hand away reluctantly.

"It wasn't until just a few months ago. I get full rather quickly now. I thought my body was just adapting to this stuff. But Dean, I'm rather concerned."

Dean raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to elaborate, but he didn't. He only looked out the window, eyes shadowed.

The mood had shifted from excitable to subdued in an instant, and Dean abruptly lost his appetite in it, which truly said something since he had previously been starving.

"Let's get out of here. Want to take a hunting trip with me before you get back to saving people from their subconscious?"

"Actually," Castiel said, standing up with obvious relief. "I wanted to ask you if I could stay with you for a little while. A man on the streets asked to borrow that card you gave me and he never returned it."

Dean froze, tray in hand.

"A guy took your credit card? How long ago?"

Castiel tilted his head, hand still clutching lightly at his stomach.

"About six months ago. Why?"

"Where have you been sleeping if you couldn't pay for the motels?" Dean ignored the looks they were getting as his voice rose.

"Where I felt like. I don't understand your anger."

Dean opened his mouth for a biting remark and thought better of it, storming off and shoving the tray into the trash. The lady at the cash register began to reprimand him, but he had already flung the door open. He heard Castiel apologizing for him briefly before the door shut.

When he joined Dean in the car, he said quietly, "You have no reason to be upset. Now, where would you like to begin our hunt?"

Dean shrugged, trying to find a sensible reason for his anger. He told himself that it was about the credit card he had given Cas to pay for his motels, that the money he worked hard to scam out of people was probably going towards a plasma screen TV box, the mansion version of a hobo home, but deep down he felt sick at the thought of Castiel sleeping in alley when he could have called either him or Sam and just asked for a place to crash.

"Do you know him?" Castiel asked unexpectedly. Dean followed his eyes to a man sitting on the curb, hood pulled up against the cold and a cigarette clamped in his mouth. The man was watching them with an intrigued expression. As he caught Dean's eye, he lifted his hand in a lazy wave.

"No, absolutely not," he replied, lifting his own hand hesitantly. "Let' get out of here. To a motel," he added, stressing the last words.

Castiel appeared affronted before a kind of relief softened his features.

"Oh. You're applying sarcasm, aren't you?"

"Not exactly," Dean muttered, but Castiel didn't hear him, instead poking at the radio.

Dean opened his mouth to tell him that no one touched the radio, but in the end he merely shook his head and cranked the car, trying to decide which hunt they should pick up with.

"Why don't we go bug Sam?" he asked after about thirty minutes of quiet. Well, revoke the previous statement. Castiel had cranked the music up and had a goofy grin on his face. Dean had to shout to be heard over it, but Castiel didn't get the hint and turn it down. Instead, it became a shouting match.

"Sounds like a good idea. I've heard that demon activity has increased in Kansas," he all but screamed.

"Kansas?" Dean asked. He felt his face pinch as he turned that thought over.

"What?" Castiel called, leaning towards him.

He shook his head, thinking about how different Castiel was from Sam and wondering if they could possibly convince him to hunt with them when Castiel gasped, throwing his arm out to grab Dean's on the steering wheel.

"Pull over, Dean," he called, wrenching open his door before the vehicle had even halted completely.

"Cas? Cas! What's wrong?" Dean stopped the car and scrambled out, joining Castiel by the side of the road, where he was emptying the contents of his stomach.

"Crap. We can sue them," Dean said automatically. "Burger King sucks, anyway. God - are you alright?"

He stepped closer as Castiel began hacking, and as he did so, he realized that his headlights were causing something red to glisten in the grass.

"Is that blood?"

Castiel didn't answer, instead clutching at his stomach with his eyes screwed shut.

"Is that blood?" Dean repeated, voice edging towards panic involuntarily. But Castiel wasn't well. Maybe it took headlights casting harsh light on him, but now Dean could see that the bones of his face were more prominent than they ever had been, and there were shadows under his eyes.

"Cas, how long has this been happening?"

Castiel rocked back, falling ungracefully into a sitting position.

"A few months. I thought I was simply ill for a while there, and then I came to accept it as normal. But as of late, I am beginning to think I have a serious human illness."

Dean knew nothing medical wise, but he knew that Sam might have a clue on what to do.

"Come on," Dean said, trying not to let alarm seep into his voice. "Let's get to Sam. I bet he can Google your symptoms in a heartbeat."

The term flew over Castiel's head. He groaned, all but crawling back into the passenger seat. He curled up, almost like a cat, and fell asleep in an instant, before Dean could even shut his own door. A car passed them slowly, curiously, before speeding up. Dean decided it might be best to hurry to Sam, and as he turned to take in Castiel once more, he felt that kick in his gut that told him something may be very wrong, but he refused to acknowledge it. There were lots of sicknesses that caused people to cough up blood. None of them good, but most curable. And Castiel was strong. He would get through it with no problem, right?

He turned the music off entirely, driving in a near silence, only punctured by Castiel's gentle breathing.

"You'd better be okay, you selfish dick," Dean sighed, pressing back against his seat and settling in for a long drive.

And as he drove, he thought back to the past two years, how much everything had changed. How close he and Castiel had gotten, how many dates Sam had been on, how they had lived an almost normal life, like the one Sam and Dean had before Sam discovered his psychic abilities and before that small encounter Dean had with hell and that they had with the apocalypse.

All had been quiet in Heaven. Castiel had remained distant in some ways but closer in so many others.

Two years of a dazed happiness that he was unaccustomed to dealing with, but he felt like someone had just shaken him roughly awake.

With the occasional glance at Castiel, he could see the faint pink of dried blood just at the corners of his mouth, and he felt like throwing up himself.

* * *

"Dean?" Sam asked, yawning. "It's like…." He glanced around for a time source. "I don't know. Like, two a.m.?"

"It's a little after six in the morning," Dean said. "It's not like you to sleep so late."

With that, he pushed past his brother, dragging Castiel by the sleeve. Sam gave him an odd look, to which Castiel shrugged and yawned.

"My roommate is going to be back soon. What do you need?"

Sam's voice faded out as he disappeared into the small kitchen, returning with three beers and passing them around.

"Cas has a problem," Dean said, not beating around the bush. "I think he's sick."

Castiel shifted, as if he were ashamed of such a thing, but Sam merely stared.

"Sick? You think he's sick? So you drive God knows how many hours to come and consult ME about it? Why didn't you just go to a hospital in New York?"

"Oh, sorry. We were just hoping we would come across one that had a specialist for former angels!" Dean snapped.

"Do I look like a specialist? Do I even look like a med student?"

"No," Dean said, surly. "But I thought you maybe could think of someone who could take a look at him without getting a hospital involved. God knows what he has going on in there. He might be turned into a game of Operation. And I was planning on asking you about a hunt."

Sam watched Dean, face torn between laughing and delivering a classic bitch face, but in the end he turned his attention to Castiel, who had pressed the cold can against his forehead.

"You're supposed to drink that," he said conversationally.

"It feels rather pleasant, though," Castiel replied.

Sam shook his head, heaving himself up and grabbing his phone.

"Yeah, I'll go make a phone call. Make yourselves at home, I guess."

Castiel obliged instantly, curling up and tugging his coat over himself, one hand still pressing the can against his forehead; his cheeks were red. Dean watched him for a moment, listening to Sam talk on the phone quietly before he stood up and walking over to his friend. He pressed his hands against his cheeks, alarmed by the sharpness on his cheekbones more than the heat lighting his face.

"You have a fever," he announced, but Castiel only shrugged.

"I've had one on and off for the past few weeks. I've gotten used to it."

"You've lost a lot of weight," Dean pressed.

"Natural. I've lost touch with my grace entirely. I am little more than a human now, so it didn't surprise me when I noticed. I'm not accustomed to sustaining myself."

Sam returned without a word, bringing a plate of food and flipping the TV on to some hospital show.

"So," he began, biting into his sandwich. "Get settled in yet?"

Dean jumped a little, alarmed, but Castiel was mercifully asleep.

"Dude. He's not supposed to know."

Sam spat out bits of food in laughter, hacking a bit, but he didn't attempt to stop.

"Know what?" he rasped, rubbing at his throat. "That you're gay for him? I mean, Bobby offers you his house while he's off finding himself - and says he may just let you have it - and you immediately decide Cas should live there too."

"I was thinking we could ALL stay there," Dean replied defensively, raising his voice a little. "You know, as a family. But someone had to go back to college." He shuddered, shaking his head. "I would love help keeping Bobby's business going."

Sam snorted.

"I live here. It's kind of the first place I could call my own home. I'll come visit!" he added hastily at Dean's glare. "But you know Bobby figured that house would be for the both of you. Unless you really think he can keep going by himself. He can barely get dressed by himself."

He nodded at Castiel's wardrobe for emphasis; a pair of tattered brown slacks and a light blue shirt that had been buttoned wrong underneath his trench coat.

"That's true. But come on, Sammy. Can't we just appreciate the fact that I actually own a house?"

"Not entirely," Sam said. "Bobby may get pissed during his soul search and come back and throw you both out."

Huffing, Dean crossed his arms and sank back, focusing his eyes on Castiel's sleeping form.

"Yeah, whatever. I guess after this I'll take him there. I've wanted to ask him about everything he's been up to lately. We should all go on a hunt together, huh? Maybe before your classes start? Sam?"

Sam jerked a little, nodding. He had been staring at Castiel with the strangest expression on his face, but his frown smoothed out as he answered Dean.

"Oh, yeah. We'll be hunting together in no time. I'm sure it's just the flu or something."

"Yeah," Dean agreed instantly. "The flu. At the worst."

Dean Winchester was a great liar, but even his own words sounded hollow in his mind, and they rang without any truth or certainty.

'Shit, Cas. What have you done to yourself now?'


End file.
